


It isn't (is) my fault

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:25:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a farce of a relationship, but they’re both desperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It isn't (is) my fault

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Watch out for severe emotional pain. Also, there’s sex.

"Mr. Callaghan, these documents — signed by your daughter — invalidate your case completely. Unless you have evidence to present, we will be forced to drop your charges."

"I— your honor…" Robert’s voice was tremulous. These past few weeks hadn’t been easy on him. Despite being on the opposing side, Krei almost winced in sympathy. "There are tapes, and if I could just get access to them for you, you would see there was grievous misconduct."

“‘If’ Isn’t good enough, Mr. Callaghan. I’m sorry. These ‘tapes’ cannot be considered when there are no means of accessing them nor any confirmation that they even exist.” The judge turned to Krei, awaiting comment.

"Mr. Callaghan is referring to security tapes, but I don’t believe they are of any significance, nor am I or anyone else here authorized to access them." Throughout his answer, Krei watched the judge so he wouldn’t be compelled to meet Robert’s glare.

"Your honor, surely just knowing there are tapes—"

"Do not speak out of turn, Mr. Callaghan. There’s nothing more I can do for you." The gavel came down with a finalizing _bang_. “Case dismissed.”

People were quick to file out of the courtroom, Krei being one of the last to step out of his seat and behind the mass of people. He took quick strides towards refuge and refused to look back, even when Robert called after him, angry and accusing, “You killed my daughter, Krei!”

It _wasn’t_ his fault, goddamn it.

* * *

Every second Friday, he and Robert had rendezvoused. Sometimes at his house, sometimes at Robert’s. They had knocked back beer and wine and fucked until the early hours of the morning, and the visiting party had always gone home before noon.

Two months had passed since their last encounter. Truth be told, Krei missed it. He had since spent his Friday evenings watching television and drinking wine, which was by no means a terrible thing to do on a Friday evening, but it wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as ending the night curled up next to a warm body.

He didn’t have anyone else he could call in. He had no friends to speak of, no one who wasn’t either an employee or a client. Robert and Abigail had been his sole source of friendship, and neither of them — especially Abigail — were accessible.

He rolled the stem of his wine glass between his thumb and forefinger. Four glasses of wine, and he was feeling no better about his situation. It didn’t help that the quality of television was lacking terribly these days; who in the world would want to watch something as asinine as ‘Honey Boo Boo: All Grown Up’? He would have changed the channel, but everything else on was similarly vacuous.

Krei sighed, slumped back into his chair, and downed the rest of his glass in preparation for a night of everything reality television had to offer.

* * *

His secretary had never before felt the need to interrupt a conference to relay a message to him, so he was anticipating an emergency when she rushed up to him during the deep of one. Instead of speaking, she handed him a post-it note. That was all she did, and then she stood there, expectant. He’d opened his mouth to chastise her for disrupting their meeting when he spotted the message scribbled upon the paper. His mouth shut with a clack of teeth.

‘ _We need to talk - Robert_ ’.

Disbelieving, he glanced at her, eyebrows arched in question. Her response was to shrug helplessly and skitter off. She knew of the hostility between himself and Robert, having heard him speak (or complain, rather) of it numerous times during the lawsuit, and clearly had no desire to be part of it. He was silent for a long time, examining the note back and front for any trace of an explanation.

"…Mr. Krei, is everything alright?"

Every face in the room had turned to look at him. Smiling lopsidedly, Krei curled a fist around the post-it note and shoved it into a trouser pocket.

"Yes, everything’s fine. Please proceed."

* * *

The note had provided no date nor location. Any calls he made to Robert rang out, so he had to assume the man wanted to be approached in person; he suspected this was because Robert didn’t want to make it easy for him to exit the conversation if it got too heated for his liking. The man was currently on bereavement leave and Alistair wasn’t sure where he was living, these days, so he had to hope Robert was still popping into his workplace to catch up with his students. It sounded like the sort of thing Robert would do.

The following day, Alistair entered the Institute of Technology and made a bee-line for Robert’s office. He had visited often enough that he knew what path to take in order to avoid the prying eyes of the students. The office was vacated when he entered. No students, nor its teacher. As he stepped into the bowels of the room, he noted a thin layer of dust on Robert’s bookshelves. No one had been here for some time. Except, perhaps, the cleaners, as the floor was devoid of any sign of any filth.

He approached Robert’s desk. A small photo of Robert’s family sat upon it, a younger Robert Callaghan cradling a tiny bundle while his wife cooed over them both. Krei felt the stirrings of something that might have been guilt and pushed it over, face down.

"It’s not my fault."

"That you need to tell yourself that at all is a sign you’re culpable," came a voice from behind him, immediately identifiable as Robert’s. He didn’t turn straight away, taking a moment to neaten his lapels in order to brace himself for what was likely to be a very unpleasant conversation.

"You think what you want to think, Robert," Alistair said as he turned to face his former friend. "I’m done arguing about this."

Robert’s expression descended into a scowl. “How fortunate that you have the choice to turn a blind eye to what you did.”

Alistair made a visible effort not to roll his eyes. “You wanted to see me, and I’m here.” He pulled a sleeve back to glance at his watch. Not because he needed to, but to stress that he was a busy man. “Whatever it is you called me here for, get on with it.”

There was a startling quickness to the way Robert closed the space between them. One of Robert’s hands was fisted around the collar of his shirt before he could even conceive of voicing a protest, though he did manage a stifled ‘Hey, what—’ when he was shoved onto his back, onto the desk.

"You could have given a little warning!"

"Be quiet, Krei."

The hand fisted in his collar descended to unbuckle his belt and pull it with ease from its loops. He lifted his hips to accommodate this, primarily on instinct.

"Shouldn’t we at least talk about this before we— ooh—!" A fist around his cock, pumping it. He swallowed hard and let his head drop back, eyes half-lidded and staring vacantly up at the ceiling. "O…kay…" It took him a moment to will his voice back into operational order. "Okay…okay, fine. But you’d better have lube on hand or you can forget about fucking me."

Robert was silent as he withdrew a tube of K-Y jelly from his back pocket. They had done this multiple times before, and they both knew what the other liked. Perhaps that was why Robert provided little to no preparation before unzipping himself and pushing in, right up to the hilt, eliciting a yelp and whimper from Krei. While not painful, there was nothing desirable about the sudden stretch of sensitive muscle. He grappled for Robert’s shirt as the man began to thrust, feeling his body shiver and clench, beyond his control. A hand slid beneath his shirt and fanned over his heaving chest. Fingers played with his nipples, tweaking until they were hard, and a hot mouth attached itself to his neck and sucked. When the jerking of Robert’s hips slowed, that was when he withered in bliss.

Neither of them took long to orgasm. Krei was first, followed shortly after by Robert.

"I’ll see you Friday. My place," after stating this, Robert simply left.

Krei cleaned himself up with some tissues, straightened his suit, and then took his own leave.

* * *

It was an apartment complex. No house, not anymore. A house was too large for just one person, Krei supposed. He sat in his car and stared up at the apartment complex Robert’s scribbled directions had led him to. Decent apartments were hard to come by this deep into the city, but this place was just horrible. If he listened hard enough, he would probably hear someone overdosing.

He scoped out the area from the safety of his car before he entered the building. The receptionist didn’t recognize his face, which was a relief.

Robert was dressed in formal winter clothing when he arrived at his door. He looked about ready to go out to dinner, not have sex. Alistair himself was in a dress shirt and pinstriped suit, but somehow, he still felt under dressed.

Robert stepped aside to let him enter, and he did, stepping straight through to the bedroom. Robert joined him after closing and locking the door behind them.

"So what are we…?" He stood at the end of the bed, waiting.

"We aren’t going to be using the bed," Robert lingered in the doorway, arms crossed. "You’re going to undress and kneel in front of me."

All the blood in his body seemed to rush straight down to his crotch. Mouth dry, he choked out, “ _What_ …?”

"You heard me." Robert smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. Alistair wished he would stop.

"Look, Robert, I’m okay with doing this, I _want_ to do this, but if all you’re doing here is trying to humiliate me as a means of ‘revenge’, I…” He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, still speaking. “I don’t know if I can do _that_.”

"You’re already undressing," Callaghan pointed out.

His fingers hesitated over his jacket buttons. “I told you, I want to do this.” The sizable bulge in his trousers made that clear.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Robert asked.

Krei didn’t have a response for that. In lieu of words, he shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving both in a pile by his feet. The belt was next, joining his trousers and underwear as they were pushed over his thighs and ankles and to the floor.

His physique wasn’t perfect, and not even close to the ideal. There was no six pack, no abundance of muscle, and even his cock was of average size; beneath his suit, Alistair Krei was nothing special. Maybe emphasizing his mediocrity was the point of this little exercise.

Despite his earlier protests, the thought had his cock bobbing in anticipation. He curled a hand around it and was stopped by Robert’s voice, “No. Come here.”

It was hard to look at Robert while completely naked. While not the first time he had been naked in front of the other man, the change in their dynamic had him flushed and anxious. He barely managed to meet his eye.

A foot before Robert, he was given additional instructions. “Now, Krei, I want you to kneel and suck me off.”

This command was enough to make him _throb_. He did as Robert asked, dropping to his knees to divest Robert of his pants and underwear and take his rigid cock into his mouth, sucking earnestly. He knew he was being depraved, gulping down the other man as if he were a reward, but he was the boss all day, every day, and it felt surprisingly good to have someone else take charge.

Hands cradled his head. They didn’t push, merely guided. He was apparently doing a good enough job that all Robert felt the need to do was stroke his hair. He pulled back to drag his tongue over the leathery head of Robert’s cock and delited in the little moan Robert let escape. Sucking hard on the underside drew forth another one, and Robert even mumbled a little praise when he took his cock back into his mouth.

Before he could finish Robert off, he was pulled back and pushed to the ground, Robert dropping to clamber on top of him. He mumbled, “Are we really going to do it here—?” but he was silenced by Robert gliding inside.

* * *

When they finished, he was given just enough time to shower and dress before Robert demanded that he leave. “Next week, your place,” were Robert’s final words. With as much dignity as he could muster, Alistair hobbled out of the apartment complex and to his car. Any lingering hurt he felt, emotional or physical, he smothered with bottle of wine before he went to bed.

That night, and the many that followed, he dreamed of Robert.

* * *

Every Friday developed into twice a week, and then into three times a week. Sixty percent of his week, excluding weekends, was dedicated to having sex with Robert. In the back of his mind he heard himself say, _I fuck Robert more than I work_.

They were addressing a carnal urge, that was all. It wasn’t as sufficient an explanation as Alistair wanted, but it was the only explanation he could allow himself. When Robert was soft and generous like he used to be, when he didn’t bite and invade and ravage, it was only because it was in his nature to be kind, nothing more. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t sleep in each others beds. They had sex for sex, not to consummate their love, because Alistair knew they didn’t and would never love each other. Robert had told him as much while biting a line of bruises down his neck, “This doesn’t mean anything, Krei. I hate you.”

Nonetheless, their roles had evened out over the past month. Robert had begun to give as much as he took, and he no longer refused if Alistair requested a blow job. They had settled into a comfortable routine. It was a mockery of their previous relationship, but Alistair had no one else, and he would take what he could get.

* * *

They reached the new year. A week into January, Alistair woke up to the sound of snoring.

He blanched, rolled onto his side, and his chest was greeted with the heat of another body. He recalled several shots of vodka, in that moment.

"Geddof," grumbled a half-asleep Robert. A hand came up to push him away, and upon contacting with flesh, that hand jerked away as if burned. Alistair couldn’t help but flinch at his revulsion.

"What the— what’re you doing here?" Robert demanded.

"Sorry, I think I—" Krei looked around at his surroundings. This wasn’t his room. "I fell asleep."

"Obviously." Robert’s scowl was deep and angry as he slipped off the bed, sheets falling around him to unveil a naked body. They had slept together in the literal sense, and worst of all, they had done it _naked_. “What are you doing here?”

"I- I fell asleep," Krei offered again. He slipped off the bed himself to pull on his clothes.

"How?" The tone of Robert’s voice suggested he was in desperate need of an answer. Uncomfortable though he was, Krei arched an eyebrow at him.

He’d consumed just as much alcohol as Robert and he could still remember the events of the night before. Sex on the couch, a blowjob, and then a couple of drinks so they could forget exactly who they were fucking for a little while. They had stumbled into bed at some point, intending to have more sex. Evidently they hadn’t managed to do that before falling asleep. It had been an innocent mistake on both their parts.

"We had too much to drink. We fell asleep." He pushed in the last button on his shirt. "Robert, it’s okay—"

"It isn’t okay!" Robert snapped, furious, and Krei didn’t even bother buckling up his belt before he fled the room.

In the week that followed, neither of them attempted to contact each other to arrange their next meeting. Rather, Robert was found standing outside his building after a fortnight of absence, and they proceeded to rip each others clothes off in the back of Krei’s limo.

"Don’t you ever fall asleep in my bed again," Robert cautioned.

 _His_ bed. Did that mean Robert was open to sleeping elsewhere?

Krei chose not to ask if this was the case.

* * *

They didn’t have the sort of relationship where it was appropriate to bask in the afterglow of sex. However, after a particularly vigorous session of anal and hand jobs, they lay in bed with the quilt distributed evenly over their naked bodies, panting and disheveled. Robert had a hand on the inside of his thigh. It was calloused and warm, and it felt nice.

Maybe it was the heat, maybe he was just over-sentimental, but he rolled over and pressed his lips to Robert’s; it was their first kiss since the accident. The hand on his thigh moved over his jaw and ear, to the back of his neck, and a tongue licked into his mouth. When they parted, Robert’s fingers carded up through his hair, skating over his scalp in a way Alistair had always enjoyed. He leaned down for another kiss, but Robert released him, rolling onto his side. Krei suddenly found himself straddling an unresponsive partner.

"Take your shower, you look disgusting," Robert grunted, drawing the covers higher up over his body. Krei had to scramble off the bed just to avoid falling. "I’ll have mine when you’re finished."

"Oh, come on. This is _my_ house, and that’s _my_ bed.” He had hoped he would be able to nap. Looking down to see the disaster of come and lubrication between his legs was the only reason he decided against crawling back into bed to spite Robert. A shower, then. He could crawl back into bed after.

Once beneath the spray of hot water, he ran a thumb over his entrance, gently pressing in. ‘Am I gay?’ funnily enough, this was the first he had ever wondered. He still viewed heterosexual porn and found himself attracted to the women in his workplace, so he didn’t think so. This attraction had never extended to other men. The only man he had ever shown any interest in was Robert.

Upon realizing this, he dried and dressed as fast as possible, hiding in a separate room until Robert had left.

* * *

They saw each other every day throughout the week. God knows how it had developed to this point, but Krei wasn’t complaining. Robert had returned to work, but neither of them were particularly busy during winter and they usually found time for, if nothing else, a handjob in a shadowed corner or a quickie in Robert’s office. Fifteen minutes max, and they were done.

He’d become so accustomed to seeing Robert that he had begun jotting it down in his day planner; _9:00 buy groceries, 10:30 conference call, 11:45 have sex with Robert_. Robert must have felt much the same way because he arranged their clandestine meetings just as often as Krei did.

They kissed now. There was always too much gum or teeth involved for it to be anything but sexual, and it was as much a bite as it was a kiss, really. Krei didn’t mind. He kind of liked the casual intimacy of the gesture.

The next time he stepped foot in Robert’s workplace, they didn’t even manage to reach his office before Robert was upon him, dragging him into a janitors closet by his belt loops. “You left a jacket at my place,” Krei said while being hoisted up against a wall. His legs wrapped around Robert’s waist, holding on tight.

Robert squeezed and fondled his buttocks, slipping a finger inside. “I’ll pick it up tonight.”

Krei’s response was momentarily stalled by a moan. “I—” A breath. “I got it dry cleaned.” He wiggled in Robert’s grip, breaths rolling hot and fast over the professors ear. “You owe me five dollars.”

For the first time in a long time, Robert chuckled. “Alright.”

* * *

It wasn’t deliberate prying. When he had gone through Robert’s bathroom cabinet in search of a fresh bar of soap, he hadn’t expected to find a little orange bottle of pills. The label stated their purpose in big black letters, ‘anti-depressants’. Once a day with water, best used at night. He turned the bottle over his in hands, an unpleasant feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he peeled the sticker back to unveil the numerous others beneath.

On the final sticker, he read the date; the prescription had been made two weeks after Abigail’s ‘death’. The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach developed into nausea and he set the bottle back on its shelf, grasping either side of the sink with shaking hands.

He wondered, briefly, if Robert had tried to kill himself.

_It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault—_

He slowly dislodged himself from the sink, running his fingers over his face and through his hair, taking deep, calming breaths. Robert was in the lounge room, waiting for him. Maybe he could bring up the anti-depressants before they had sex and tell him— tell him—

Tell him _what_? They weren’t lovers. They weren’t even _friends_. What in the world was he thinking? If he gave even the slightest hint he cared for Robert’s well being, Robert would smother it with his hate, like he always did.

Why had he ever indulged Robert? Why had he thought that was a good idea? What had he been hoping to achieve? Their relationship — or lack thereof— was a _mess_. Time wasn’t going to convince Robert to forgive him, because— because Robert was _right_ : he had killed Abigail. Inadvertently or not, Robert would never be able to see him as anything but the man who had sent Abigail to her death.

Krei looked at the little orange bottle once more. Slowly, he raised a hand to the cabinet, and he shut it.

Robert was still waiting in the lounge room when he took leaping steps towards the front door.

"—Alistair?"

It slammed shut behind him.

He didn’t look back, and he didn’t return.


End file.
